


Obsessive Compulsion

by memelessness



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe-Role Reversal, Angel!Crowley(Corviel), Demon!Aziraphale(Ziraphon), Ineffable Husbands(Good Omens), Other, Reverse Omens, Roleswap AU, This was supposed to be a drabble, but it got a bit long, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 00:49:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19897135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memelessness/pseuds/memelessness
Summary: Corviel experiences obsessive and compulsive behavior... But he's not obsessed. He's just decisive, and very orderly.AKA An Early Morning Write About Obsessiveness Due to Obsessiveness While Projecting Onto a Fictional Character





	Obsessive Compulsion

**Author's Note:**

> Please support all our works on [Our Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/CorvielZiraphon)

Corviel would never describe himself as obsessive. Maybe decisive or orderly… but obsessed was a bitter word. Obsessed was restless nights stuck in your thoughts, body absolutely tired but mind not shutting off until you finally write the ideas out. Obsessed was planning out the entire day down to the tee, never diverging for any circumstance. _Obsessed_ was the need to keep everything (especially what's out of your control) in a neat, orderly fashion, but only if it was done in a very specific method. Even though he did all of these, Corviel never thought himself obsessive.

The angel just knew what he enjoyed, and wasn’t set on changing it anytime soon. He liked curry and rice, but only if it’s made with the traditional methods, and he liked being flirted with, but never when Ziraphon was around. He liked hot tea with a light amount of creamer, and keeping his tie collection in color order, and fuzzy socks on rainiest of days.

Sometimes the state of the backroom would bother him (and by sometimes, that meant only when he woke up early and didn’t have a disaster of a shop to clean), and he could easily lose the whole day just in fixing it. He’d start with the bed, he’d have to, then sweep the floor from west to east, then dust off the dresser then the shelf, then the television. He would have to finish with the windows, dusting off the blinds first then spraying with glass cleaner as the dizzying smell of ammonia overtook the room. 

When he was done cleaning, he’d take his time getting dressed. He’d pick a button up, doing up all the buttons except the last one, tucking it into well-ironed slacks. He would then pick a tie, basing his decision on how the day was supposed to go and how it coordinated with his outfit. 

The backroom door would then be left open two fingers wide (or completely closed, if unclean), and he’d pace the music store. He had to check all the shelves, ordering the music by artist, then year of publication. Sometimes he’d find things out of order, unsure if it were due to a particular demon or an oblivious customer. Either way, neither knew how much this caused him to panic. So he’d fix it as fast as possible, maintaining order within his sphere of control.

He’d open the store every day, except Saturday, at 10 am exactly. If he missed that, he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to flip the sign until 10:10 or 10:20 or increments thereof. Luckily for customers waiting outside his door, he’d been ready just in time. He turned on the music (volume at a perfect 11), opened the blinds, unlocked the door, and kindly invited them in.

_Bae, let’s go on a date tonight??!!! -_ sent 4:20 pm

Corviel weighed his options. On one hand, he had the wonderful opportunity of spending the night out with his adversary, but on the other it would throw an entire wrench into the plan he had already made.

 _Dearest Aziraphon,_  
_I do think I’d rather enjoy your company,_  
_this afternoon._ _Let me close up the shop  
_ _and I_ _shall be ready_ _to go._ _  
_ _Sincerely, Corviel -_ sent 4:22 pm

His fingers hovered over the screen for a moment after he sent the message. He read it again, and again. Over and over until he finally got a response.

 _Rad -_ sent 4:23 pm

He’d make the announcement of the early closing over the speakers, immediately locking the door behind the last person, then flipping the sign, then closing the blinds. He’d wait on turning off the music, almost dancing as he took a stroll through the store.

Corviel watched the parking space, obses- attentively, waiting for the black Ford (a Model A that had been shipped straight from America) to pull up to the shop. His eyes lit up when he saw the car that looked like it was still in the 30’s, first turning off the music, then the lights (the left switch before the right), finally exiting the building, locking the door, and giving the glass a tap for good measure.

He originally tried to walk across the car for the passenger seat, looking over his shoulder to see the smug grin across the demon’s face (“What, Angel? Wanna sit on my lap?”), and quickly backtracking. 

“Good afternoon, Aziraphon.” Corviel spoke after opening the door, settling into the seat. He then closed the door, briefly tapping the window.

“Afternoon, Babe.” Ziraphon responded, leaning back into his seat as his hands hung lazily over the steering wheel, “Haven’t seen you all day. What’ve you been up to?”

The angel hummed as he unconsciously inspected the car, double checking the exits and fire hazards, and developing a plan for the both of them, in the event of an emergency, “Mostly cleaning.” He responded, buckling up his seatbelt and giving it a reassuring tug. He then reached out to Ziraphon, hand barely over their shoulder as it took everything in him to not touch them.

Ziraphon, if anything, was definitely not obsessive. That wasn’t exactly to say he was indecisive. No, every decision he made was for some sort of reason, but it was made in the moment. Sometime he wasn’t a _he_ . Sometimes they wore sundresses and straw hats, or fishnets and vulgar tee shirts, or pronoun pins that just weren’t pronouns at all. Sometimes he _needed_ to be touched, and sometimes touch would just make them angry, and the angel would have to suppress the obsessive need until they’re gone.

To Corviel’s delight, the demon gently brushed their hands against the back of his. This was the signal that he was okay for the little notions of affection. The angel smiled back, giving them two pats on the shoulder for good measure.

“So what’s the plan?” Corviel retrieved his hand, folding them into his lap as he sat properly.

“Dunno, yet.” Ziraphon spoke casually, “Figured we’d just roll with the punches and figure it out along the way.”

“O-oh.” Was all the angel could choke out, pretending the very idea of not having a plan didn’t bother him. He _just_ gave up on a plan to be here! Now there was nothing! He began to tap his fingers against his well-covered thighs, twice on the right and once on the left, going back and forth in an insane rhythm as he steadied his breath.

The demon noticed this, taking a hand off the wheel and placing it onto Corviel’s shoulder, “Woah, calm down Bae. Are you alright?” His voice was heavy with concern as he watched his angel in slight horror and confusion.

“Yup. Quite dandy.” Corviel spoke slightly panicked, “A-absolutely splendid. Cooler than cucumbers! Why wouldn’t I be?!”

“It’s cool as a- nevermind.” Ziraphon stopped himself, trying to think this through. The angel seemed fine, all the way until… “How about we make a plan now?” He offered, attempting to reassure them.

Corviel’s anxieties began to settle a bit the more they discussed the plan. Where they’d go to dinner. Whether they’d get drinks later. What bar they’d get said drinks from. Where they’d go after. It was a solid, foolproof plan, and his panic finally disappeared.

Maybe he was obsessive.


End file.
